


Jesse's Hands

by samwise_baggins



Category: The Dukes of Hazzard (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sad, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26149123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwise_baggins/pseuds/samwise_baggins
Summary: Dedicated to the memory of Denver Pyle. Rest in peace, "Uncle Jesse"..Song Note: This song came from listening to "Daddy's Hands" by Holly Dunn.
Kudos: 3





	Jesse's Hands

**Author's Note:**

> If you figure Luke went into the Marines at 18, and came out at 22, then 2 years passed for probation, he's about 24 at the beginning of the series.  
> .  
> I do not skip out Coy and Vance because I dislike them; I skip them out because I never saw any of the episodes with them in it, though my friend Sherry tells me they were in it quite a bit later on. So, Coy and Vance fans, I apologize if this tribute is a little flat without them; I only had what I knew to aid me in the story. I also found it easier this time to leave the Balladeer out.

Luke sat in the doctor's waiting room, worry creasing his handsome young face. Things weren't right no matter how much Uncle Jesse protested he was fine. It wasn't like the man to get so tired all the time, and he didn't eat much of anything, either. There was a bruise on the older man's arm that didn't seem to want to go away, and that was odd in itself, too.

It had taken a long time for the three cousins to convince their uncle to go to a doctor at all, and now they sat in the waiting room . . . waiting. The pamphlets the doctor had handed over didn't provide comfort; information about things like diabetes and cancer just made this entire affair seem more heart wrenching. Not knowing what would be the end result, what they'd be facing . . . or how long Jesse might be sick . . . even if Jesse'd get well again, made all three impatient and morose.

The dark-haired twenty-something man was extremely withdrawn, however. Bo and Daisy might be talking over the situation quietly, but Luke found he couldn't keep his mind in the present. He kept drifting back over different episodes in the past, and with each memory, the tears wanted to well up and overwhelm him. After all, this was the man that had raised them from such a young age. He'd taught them everything important, and even given up hundreds of years of family tradition to protect them. This was Uncle Jesse.

**I remember Jesse's hands folded silently in prayer . . .**

Kneeling by his bedside, the little dark-haired boy with the blue-gray eyes looked up and frowned. "Why we gotta talk ta' someone ain't there?"

The sturdy man in flannel shirt and coveralls knelt next to the boy, looking him in the eyes. Behind him, next to the other bed in the room, the little blond boy lifted his pure blue eyes up. He was a couple of years younger than the darker lad, but the two were inseparable. The man's voice was gentle and very certain of his words when he answered. "Oh, He's there, Luke. Don't you ever doubt that."

"But He ain't listened, Unca Jesse. He ain't give me my Mama an' Daddy back." The boy was just as insistent as his uncle. Luke Duke had never liked taking things lying down; if he saw something wrong, he got involved and puzzled it out. In fact, his cousin, Bo, had started taking Luke's example in most things, but mostly because the little blond looked up to his seven-year-old cousin, especially since their parents had died a few months ago in a car accident, leaving them, and another cousin, in the care of their Uncle Jesse.

Jesse nodded thoughtfully. "I see. Well, I used ta' think the same way, Luke, when I was as little as you. But I learnt better by an' by, and now I can tell you for certain that He's a-listenin'. And He's a good parent, Luke. He knows when you need somethin' or not, and He gives you what all you need."

Luke frowned stubbornly, his hands still pressed together absent-mindedly as he knelt there next to his uncle. "But why don't He answer my prayers, then, Unca Jesse? When's He gonna answer them?"

Gently the man hugged the earnest little boy. Rocking him gently, he sighed then smiled sadly. "Oh, Luke, He has answered you. Ain't He give you me?"

The boy shook his head. "But I want my Mama back, and He ain't answered that one, Unca Jesse." He leaned into his uncle and guardian instinctively. The love in the Duke family was very strong, even if the seven-year-old didn't fully understand it yet.

Shaking his head, Jesse pulled slightly away to look Luke in the eyes. "He needs your Mama to be an angel, Luke... and He did answer your prayer, whether you'd knowd it or not. Someday, Luke . . . Bo . . ." and Jesse included the five-year-old in his comments now, "you'll understand that sometimes His answer is _'No'_."

With that, Jesse moved his hands down to fold securely over Luke's much smaller ones and bowed his head, seeing from the corner of his eye that the boys had followed suit. He missed his brothers and their wives, and his sister and her husband, but there was nothing he could do but protect the children they'd left behind. And someday the boys would understand that.

Silently, Uncle Jesse listened as Luke and Bo raised their young voices in their nightly prayers, trusting his word to be right, no matter how much it hurt.

**And reaching out to hold me when I'd had a nightmare . . .**

The scream that ripped through the old farmhouse woke everyone from sleep. The teenaged brunet wasn't thinking of anyone else at that moment, though; he was lost in a nightmare of fear and confusion. In fact, Luke was so far gone in his private misery that he wasn't even aware of his cousin, Bo, trying to talk to him.

Suddenly a voice, kind and loving, broke through the haze. Uncle Jesse came to sit on the bed beside him, sliding his arms around the frightened boy. "Now, Luke, calm down. You're alright. Ain't no one gonna hurt you here."

Luke, gasping for breath, trying not to cry at the aftermath of emotion, turned and threw his arms desperately around his uncle. At the gentle touch, he forgot all about trying to act like a man. The fourteen-year-old burrowed against his uncle, his body trembling from the shock he'd had.

It was only peripherally that the teen was aware of his cousins, Bo and Daisy, crowding around worriedly. His attention was solely on the man who'd been both father and mother to him for half his life. Uncle Jesse's words were pure nonsense, but Luke took comfort in them anyway. If Jesse was there, the dream couldn't be true, because if Jesse was there, then he couldn't have been killed in the car crash that had taken so many other Dukes.

Luke swore privately that he'd never let anything happen to his uncle as he continued to let Jesse hold and comfort him.

**You could read quite a story in the calluses and lines . . .**

Sitting in his Uncle Jesse's lap, Luke smiled and recited his spelling homework. He drew it out, enjoying the private time with his uncle. After all, he did have to share the man with his cousins, Bo and Daisy. That night he'd been the last Jesse'd come over to for homework, so he had a chance at a little extra time; however, too soon it seemed, the homework was checked and there wasn't any reason for the man to keep the nine-year-old on his lap.

Luke stalled, grasping at anything to get just a little more time. He captured one of Jesse's large hands and traced the lines in the palm. "Uncle Jesse, what's this?"

Jesse liked holding his nephews and niece, so he was willing to put off his chores for a little bit longer. Playing along with the imaginative child, the man glanced over his palm and smiled behind his beard. "Now you know that there's my hand, Luke." His voice was gruff, but the boy was used to hearing the love behind the tone.

Laughing, Luke shook his head. "No, this." He traced along the lines again.

"Them there's lines in the skin, Luke, same as your's. See?" He lifted the much smaller hand to compare them. "We's just alike."

Blue-gray eyes turned up trustingly to blue as the boy nodded. "But you gots scars, Uncle Jesse. Where from?"

"Oh." Jesse shook his head at the things boys would ask to get attention, but he continued to humor the lad for a moment. Pointing to each mark in turn, he softly said, "That there's from when I got my hand caught in a hay bailer. That's the time Sissy fell off the roof and her tack hammer hit my hand." The man purposely ignored Luke's curious look, knowing he'd have to get supper on the table real soon so he couldn't go further into stories of childhood. "This one's when I got tangled up in some wire, and that's a burn from the stove. The rest are just normal wear and tear from growing up, Luke."

Daisy's plaintive six-year-old voice came from the other room, "Unca Jesse? I'm hungry."

"I'm a-comin', Daisy. We got chores, Luke. Why don't you set the table?" With that, his Uncle stood, setting the boy on his feet, and walked hurriedly into the other room, leaving Luke staring thoughtfully at his own hands.

**Years of work and worry had left their mark behind . . .**

Luke slid out from under the orange stock car he and his cousin, Bo, were building. Uncle Jesse, graying and running to more belly than a younger man would have, came around the side of the barn with a wide grin. Bo pushed back from under the open hood and grinned at their uncle, Luke joining without having to know why the man was so pleased. In the distance, their cousin Daisy called them to "get in here for supper right now!"

"Well boys, you heard your cousin; get in there and clean up for supper. I'll clean up your tools this time for you." Jesse gave Bo a gentle shove towards the house and turned to start cleaning the grease and grime off the tools the cousins had been using on the car.

Bo yipped happily and ran off, but Luke just shook his head, reaching for a socket wrench. "I'll help you, Uncle Jesse; Daisy'll make us wait for you any how."

Jesse nodded and accidentally knocked into a phillips that Bo'd left precariously on the edge of the engine block. With a shake of his head, he carefully pulled it from behind the fan belt where it lodged and cleaned it, murmuring about how irresponsible a fifteen-year-old could be.

Seventeen-year-old Luke merely grinned in response, knowing Bo'd get a good tongue lashing for it, too. Reaching to put away the phillips, the teen paused, eyes narrowing as he watched Jesse wince and massage his hands together. The man looked a bit stiff in the joints. As Luke opened his mouth to ask about his uncle's health, though, Jesse shook his hands out and frowned at the young man.

"Now don't go a-standin' there gawking'. If'n you ain't gonna help clean these here tools, you can go up the house and clean yourself for supper. Now get." He didn't give Luke a chance to protest, either, shooing him away.  
Luke went, but he was wondering just how bad Jesse's hands were.

**I remember Jesse's hands, how they held my cousin tight . . .**

A high scream reverberated, followed by childish giggles as Luke and Bo came tearing around the side of the farm house to see what was what. There was Jesse, dressed in his ever-present coveralls and flannel shirt. He was pushing an old tire swing with young Daisy, giggling and screaming every time it went higher than her uncle's waist, in the center. The girl's pigtails were flying with the movement and her little hands were trustingly tucked under Jesse's as he pushed the swing back and forth.

Bo grinned wide, blue eyes lighting up in joy as the eight-year-old ran over to join the fun. Luke, equally happy to join the play, started over in a more dignified lope; after all, he was ten and almost a man to his own way of thinking. Little seven-year-old Daisy screamed and giggled again, causing Luke to lose his childish dignity and break into a joyful trot towards the old oak tree.

Jesse lifted his hands from Daisy's and started pushing the tire a little higher, grinning behind his beard at the sounds of the children around him. The games went on for several more minutes before he finally reached over to wrap his hands securely over his niece's to help her stop the swing. Unexpectedly, showing a spark of daring that would be present for the rest of her life, the child stood on the swinging tire and jumped towards her uncle with a gleeful shout.

Surprise registered on the man's face, but he instinctively grabbed the girl out of the air, tumbling to the ground. His arms were wrapped protectively around Daisy as he shielded her from the ground with his body. When their roll stopped, the man looked up, the girl sitting on his abdomen and giggling like mad. Jesse couldn't be angry at the foolish risk she'd taken; he broke into answering laughter and hugged her to him, gladly enfolding the boys, too, when they joined in the hug.

**And patted my back for something done right . . .**

Nervous, the eighteen-year-old man stepped off of the bus, hoping against hope he wouldn't be turning right back around and getting on. He'd left home, after all, and no matter what everyone wrote in their letters, he still felt guilty for deserting them. With a nervous tug at the dress jacket he wore, Luke took a deep breath and turned to retrieve his bag from under the bus.

He was stopped by a loud "Whoee! Don't you look purty all decked out like that." Before he could even turn, a pair of strong arms tugged him into a tight hug, nearly choking him. Luke immediately forgot his bag as he hugged his sixteen-year-old cousin, Bo.

Fifteen-year-old Daisy let out a small scream and ran over to give him a hug as well, jumping into her cousin's strong arms enthusiastically. "Luke! We thought you weren't gonna get to come home!" She gave him a sound kiss, then hugged him again, smelling of sweet hay and summer winds... a scent Luke had more than missed while on Parris Island.

After another hug from Bo, the young Marine found himself searching the small, dusty lot for the person he dreaded seeing. He wanted Uncle Jesse to be proud of him, but he'd also selfishly wanted to leave him and serve his country, as a real man should. Eight weeks he'd been gone... eight weeks of sheer torment while he worked to pass every obstacle thrown at him... eight weeks of thinking about how badly Jesse had needed him on the farm, and how trapped he'd felt there in Hazzard County.

Luke finally spotted the gray hair and familiar, well-worn coveralls of his uncle. With a nervous gulp, he pulled away from both cousins and tried to remind himself that he was only on leave for a few days anyway, what would it matter if he ended it right away?

Jesse's face was serious, his blue eyes raking over the sight of Luke in his dress uniform, as he slowly approached the nervous young man. Luke unconsciously straightened his shoulders, chin lifting with the newfound independence he'd found away from home. He looked his uncle straight in the eyes as the man stopped before him.

"Well, Sir, I'm home."

Luke was nearly sent sprawling as Jesse unexpectedly started thumping him on the back. Surprise registered in the young man's face. Uncle Jesse was grinning fit to bust, nodding and thumping away. "So you are. So you are."

Then, Jesse threw an arm around the young Marine and gave him a hug, tugging him towards the beat up old pickup parked to the side of the Boar's Nest lot. "Bo, get Luke's things. I'm real proud o' you, Luke. The Dukes've always served the U S of A, and it's about time one of the new generation took up the call. How long you got, Luke? We got to fatten you up a bit 'fore you gotta go back."

Worry, eight weeks worth, dropped away at the pride Luke saw shining in his uncle's eyes.

**There are things that I've forgotten that I loved about the man, but I'll always remember the love in Jesse's hands . . .**

A bicycle, upside down to enable him to fix the chain, sat on a board over a couple of crates. Young Luke tried to manipulate the greasy chain back over the teeth of the gear, but it kept slipping, getting his small hands dirtier and dirtier. Finally, in frustration, the eight-year-old called out, "Hey, Unca Jesse, I need some help here!"

Turning away from the hay he was spreading, hayfork held loosely in his hands, Uncle Jesse took in the situation real quick. With a smile, he set the fork, tines down, against a beam and walked over. "Well, let's see whatcha got here, Luke."

Jesse squatted next to his nephew and started looking over the bike, as if the child's project was just as important as any chore the man had to do. Finally, he nodded. "Yup, here ya go, Luke." And with what seemed a magical tweak, at least to the boy, the chain was in place and the wheels spinning in unison.

"Yee haw!" Luke jumped up and threw his greasy hands around Jesse's neck, unheeding the transfer of dirt. Instead of getting mad, Jesse merely laughed and nodded. "Now, get on that there bike of yourn and go get me the stuff on the list, Luke, or there'll be no supper for you."

The man swatted Luke's butt once to get him moving, but there was no pain or rancor in the move. It was one of pure affection from uncle to nephew, and Luke took it as such. He grinned, displaying a couple of gaps where teeth had come out, and flipped the bike over, riding off as quickly as he could for town. The sound of Jesse's laughter followed him.

**Jesse's hands . . . were soft and kind when I was crying . . .**

Gently, the worn hand stroked through dark waves of hair while soothing sounds issued from age-old lips. Luke barely heeded his uncle's efforts, though he was aware of them on a subconscious level. Rather, he kept his head on his folded arms, weeping like he hadn't done since he was a little boy. If anyone else had been there, he probably wouldn't have let himself break down at all.

Bo had been missing for almost a month, and there was nothing law enforcement had been able to do to find him. If it hadn't been for daily updates from Enos on their lack of progress, Luke would have easily believed that Roscoe and Boss weren't doing anything to locate the missing man.

They'd been searching the entire Hazzard County, and Luke was forbidden from leaving to check further afield because of his probation. He'd argued with Jesse, but the older man wouldn't back down. That left Luke daily scouring the wreck site and other places everyone had been over time and again. The frustration had welled up until he had to go off and let everything out, after midnight in the silent farm house kitchen. And that was where Jesse had found him.

The man stood, one hand on Luke's shoulder, the other on his head, stroking softly. He didn't offer useless platitudes, just stroking and providing silent strength for his nephew.

**Jesse's hands . . . were hard as steel when I'd done wrong . . .**

"Luke Duke, you get in here right now!" Jesse stood with hands on hips, his face a mass of thunder. The man was riled up like a bear with a sore paw, and his nephew was certain to regret whatever he'd done to cause such a sour mood.

A dark head peeked around the barn, fear in his blue-gray eyes. He knew it'd be worse if he didn't get out there, but he still didn't like the idea of what was bound to happen. However, Jesse had raised his nephews and niece to take responsibility for what they'd done, so the thirteen-year-old finally straightened his shoulders and headed to the farm house.

He hung his head as he got closer, seeing Jesse's dark look as the man crossed his arms and stood waiting. When he got there, his uncle grabbed his arm and marched him right into the kitchen, pulling a chair away from the table as he walked. With merely a look, Jesse signaled Luke to prepare for a whooping.

After it was done, the boy straightened painfully, and looked up into his uncle's blue eyes. He gulped back sobs, trying to be mature about the punishment. "I ain't gonna steal again, Uncle Jesse."

The man nodded and softy said, "I believe you, Luke. Now get back to your chores." As the boy started away, Jesse called out just as softly, freezing the young teen in his tracks, "Luke, I love you."

Luke turned slowly and looked at his uncle, then nodded, wiping at his eyes. He walked out of the room without a word.

**Jesse's hands weren't always gentle but I come to understand there was always love in Jesse's hands . . .**

"Hang on, Bo!" Luke ran and pushed through the brush, trying to follow his cousin's journey in the storm swollen waters. They'd been hunting and the boy had taken a misstep and slipped down the bank. The river had swept Bo away, with Luke trying to keep up, hoping that Uncle Jesse would catch up quick.

Bo didn't answer, trying to hold his head above water and swim with the fast moving current. He was a strong swimmer, at least, but that didn't mean anything when it came to trying to dodge debris. Instead, Bo merely tried not to drown while trying to keep within sight of shore and hopefully rescue.

There was a large, clear section of bank right ahead, and Luke was determined to make a move there. As he burst out of the underbrush, an eddy pulled Bo into a small spin right near the bank, but it could break at any time. Taking his chance, the fifteen-year-old threw himself on the edge and reached for his cousin, grabbing for any part of him he could reach.

Feeling cloth under his fingers, Luke clutched tight, holding on. The weight of his cousin, however, started dragging him and Luke felt himself slipping towards the river. He wasn't as strong a swimmer as his younger cousin, and fear threatened to well up over the teenager. Determinedly, Luke held on, praying he'd be able to help the thirteen-year-old in the water.

Suddenly, a rough hand grabbed for Luke's belt, pulling backwards. Another hand reached forward and gripped Luke's shirt, still pulling back. The teen felt like his waist would cut in two from the pressure of his belt, but he pushed it to the back of his mind and trusted the hold on him. He reached out his other hand and got another grip, this one on Bo's wet hair.

Holding tight, he tried to pulled himself onto sturdier ground by digging his boots into the earth. The hands tugged harder. Time crept by as the pair struggled, until, finally, Bo seemed to get a foothold in the rocks of the riverbed. It was a good ten minutes or so later, however, before both boys lay panting further from the bank, Uncle Jesse right beside them, winded.

**I remember Jesse's hands working till they bled, sacrificed unselfishly just to keep us all fed . . .**

Luke didn't make a sound, merely standing in the kitchen doorway silently watching his Uncle Jesse.

The older man was quietly bandaging some scrapes he'd gotten during the regular course of the day. Farm chores were hard on anyone, and Uncle Jesse did more than his fair share in order to free the boys up to participate on the racing circuit. Unfortunately, the man was getting old, and the chores weren't getting any easier on him.

From long years of living with his uncle, Luke knew the man would push away an offer to help more. He'd insist that the boys should keep up with their racing and other hobbies. As long as they helped out when they could, and there was strength in Jesse's body, the older man would insist on things staying the way they were.

But that didn't stop Luke from wanting to help ease the burden a bit more.

**If I could do things over I'd live my life again, and never take for granted the love in Jesse's hands.**

The sound of the office door opening drew Luke out of his memories. Bo and Daisy stood quickly, but Luke got to his feet a bit slower. He ran his hands down his blue jeans, watching as white-haired old Uncle Jesse stepped from the doctor's office. When the man closed the door behind him, he glanced over and shook his head.

"Y'all look like a Sunday picnic what's been rained on. I'm fine, like I told you. It's a bit of anemia, he said; I just need more iron. Doc's give me some pills to take and I'll be fine. So quit your worryin' and lets get home."

It was only a second or so before the news sunk in, and Luke let out a whoop, throwing his arms around the man who'd raised him. Bo and Daisy joined into the hug enthusiastically, despite Jesse's blustering. They'd been given a reprieve . . . Luke wasn't about to let the chance to show his emotions.

He wanted Jesse to be darned sure he was loved, no matter what happened.


End file.
